


veteris vestigia

by philthestone



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 13:32:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1984785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philthestone/pseuds/philthestone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life gets infinitely more complicated when an incarnation of your dead wife is sitting there holding hands with a known smuggler and glaring at you from across the table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	veteris vestigia

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS A DISCLAIMER  
> I have an incredible weakness for anything Bespin-related and also any possible Vader/Leia interaction SO  
> (Reviews are an au in which the skywalker family isn't completely dysfunctional)

It is the way she holds her head, he realizes. Its positioning, slightly angled upwards to give the air of careless dignity, the way her shoulders are pushed behind her and her back looks as though there is a ramrod stuck through it, how she clasps her hands in front of her and glares with her massive brown eyes – _that_ is what is so familiar.

He knows those brown eyes.

She is sitting directly to his right, and, of all four of his alleged dining companions, is the only one to have daintily sampled the food in front of her with an ease and sophistication that he has not seen in a long time.

It is refreshing, to say the least.

She spares him an icy glance before taking a sip of the water in front of her, pursing her lips over the rim of the glass. The only visual indication that she might be marginally frightened comes from the whiteness of her knuckles as she grips the stem of the goblet; otherwise, she is as bold and unflappable as the last time he saw her.

“I would like to discuss some things with you, your highness,” he begins, in a tone that is intended to leave no room for argument.

She turns to face him, the set of her mouth and the flutter of her eyelids radiating disdain.

“I’m afraid we have nothing to talk about, Lord Vader.”

He sees her friend – the smuggler, he remembers, the fool who helped his son (his _son_ ) rescue her from the confines of the now-demolished Death Star – tense beside her. He is not nearly as calm as she is, he notices, having spent his time so far alternating between failing at not looking incredibly frightened and glaring at the baron – Calrissian, or whatever his name was – across the table. The baron himself is looking most uncomfortable. 

_Serves him right_ , he thinks carelessly, turning his attention back to the princess. _The traitorous bastard_.

“I believe you are mistaken, your highness. You and I are both aware that you know the location of the Rebel rendezvous.”

“And you and I are both under no delusions as to whether or not I will willingly divulge that information,” she responds smoothly, dabbing at her mouth with the napkin on her plate as though being threatened by Sith Lords is a daily routine.

He inclines his head, and instead of saying something more, reaches out with his senses.

She is more angry than afraid. How interesting.

(But there is something – something else – something achingly familiar ...)

“There are ways of eliciting responses against a person’s will, my lady,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “And I believe you are well acquainted with them.”

She turns to look at him once more, and the flash of her eyes, the way she opens her mouth before responding –

_“I will not stand by and watch my people get killed!”_

Her name is Leia, he remembers. _Leia_. It plays out in his mind easily, as though something he has spoken before.

_“Oh, alright. If it_ is _a girl, what should we name her?”_

“Your attempts, if I recall correctly, failed last time – as with everything else you do, incidentally.” Her eyebrows are arched and her voice is unnaturally sweet, and he resists the urge to snort. _“Charming to the last,”_ Tarkin had said. “What makes you think this is any different?”

She is sitting turned to face him, and her face betrays nothing but disgust – but he realizes, as he catches her arm shift slightly at the rim of the table, and the determined set of the smuggler’s mouth, that anger is not the only thing he is sensing.

Hand-holding. How quaint.

_“Your hands are so much bigger than mine –” A laugh. “Look, my fingers barely reach over your knuckles.”_

He inhales sharply. No. No, he refuses –

She does not realize how vulnerable she has just made herself, he thinks instead. That she has exposed herself like this – it is quite unlike anything he has sensed from her before.

She is still glaring at him, and Calrissian turns to glance in his direction as well. The smuggler’s eyes are flitting between the princess and himself, and he recognizes the look on the other man’s face. It is something he has not felt in a long time.

_“If we die today, I need you to know that I love you.”_

He shoves the memory out of his mind and turns deliberately to face the girl. “Your choices are becoming increasingly worst, your highness.” 

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

He nods at the guards on each side of the table, and they start forward. Calrissian rises from his seat, but Solo opens his mouth before anyone can make another move.

“What are you gonna do to her?” His shoulders are tense and his voice wavering, but the look being sent in his direction is nothing if not brave (foolishly so, perhaps) and the waver in the man’s voice only heightens the obvious concern he has for her. 

An advantage, he thinks coldly, as he is forcefully reminded of –

No. Ridiculous. He motions with his hand. “Take him away.”

The princess shoots to her feet at the same time that Solo does, and lets out a yell as he drives a fist into the nearest storm trooper’s mask – the other grabs him by the back of his shirt, and she lifts the empty plate in front of her to crack it over the guard’s head –

“That was unwise,” he says dangerously, and the princess – _Leia_ – screams and drops the plate as Solo gags and clutches at his throat.

“Stop!” she yells. “Let him go!” He stares at her, unwavering. The thing about the princess, he realizes, is that no matter how poised and graceful she may seem, she has never _really_ attempted to hide her emotions. _“PLEASE, STOP!”_

_“It appears that in your anger, you killed her.”_

The smuggler collapses in the troopers’ arms and she immediately steps forward to support him; but he shrugs her off.

There is a bruise blooming on the man’s cheek, and his breathing is harsh and ragged, but he raises his eyes and glares.

“What,” Solo repeats, “are you going to do to her?” 

He inclines his head with interest. Perhaps not quite as bold as the princess, he thinks, but he can’t help but admire the courage, foolish though it may be.

He looks at her, and feels the hatred radiating off of her in waves.

_No. Not like anyone he once knew._

“Simple, Captain. I’m going to make her watch.”


End file.
